


Milk Bar

by Agent C (arh581958)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alpha Phil, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Drugs, Dystopia, Forced Lactation, Implied dubcon, Imprinting, Lactation, M/M, Male Lactation, Nick Fury is a BRO, Omega Clint, dubcon, male tits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:16:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6267394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Agent%20C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Phil Coulson wakes up inside the panic room with a strange young omega clinging to his side. </p><p>(Or: that ABO, alpha!Phil drinking milk from omega!Clint's underaged titties. I am not sorry.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Witch, because damngurl, your underage!kink made me _crave_ for this ABO-verse to be written. I'm not sure if this is what you meant though... I could just me overthinking. 
> 
> **WARNING:** This is very kinky, extremely underaged, unapologetic porn. Implied past abuse on Clint's part. Savior Syndrome. Unhealthy coping mechanisms.  If you don't like it, _LEAVE NOW._ I will not be held responsible for your brains getting melted.

Everything was a blur of rage and blood. At twenty-five, Phil Coulson had a stellar record of being in-control of his inner Alpha; _had_ being the operative term. He _had_ self-control. He _had_ been able to subdue his baser instincts through simple rational thoughts. He _had_ done everything that he was told to do like the perfect little soldier—except today. Phil doesn’t remember what happened.

There was a boy, appearing to be half his age, clinging to his arm like a lifeline. ‘An Omega boy,’ his mind supplied and traitorously identified the sweet and salty caramel popcorn scent as ‘mate’. And, if the way the small hands clutched onto his bicep indicated anything, the feeling wasn’t one-sided. He knew it was wrong to make such a claim, especially with an unfamiliar omega boy that was so damn _young—_

—and so perfect.

He was everything that Phil never realizes he wanted.

Short blond hair, chopped like it was hacked off instead of cut properly. Uneven and messy, it was matted with sweat, making the strands appear darker and thicket. A proper rinse in shampoo would bring out its fluffy softness.

Tanned skin which was not common in omegas, who were usually pale and silky smooth for their alpha counterparts. This omega—his omega, his brain emphasized—was sun-kissed and _freckled_ , and his inner alpha loved it. He wanted to run his tongue over every mark, tracing patterns and constellations on the omega’s skin.

The boy’s nostrils flared when he caught hint of the alpha’s arousal, and Phil ducked his head in shame. He should not be having inappropriate r-18 thoughts about an omega that he did not even know! Let alone fantasize about mating, and claiming, and breeding.

“Alpha,” the omega keened, and Phil was hit by the heavy scent of slick that was making the bed wet. He was acutely aware that the medics placed the omega in a hospital gown which was, as per standards, open at the back. The gush of slick pooled beside his thigh, dampening the soiled tactsuit pants that he was still wearing. The boy licked his lips and Phil followed the actions with his eyes.

Pink and supple, the omega possessed the most gorgeous set of fuck-me-lips that Phil’s ever laid eyes on. God, he cannot remember the time when he was so crude! Let alone allowed his knot lead him around. His control was legendary— _was_. He growled under his breath when the whiff of another alpha neared their location. The omega flinched beside him, making him growl even louder.

“Woah there, Cheese. Calm the fuck down before I get them to sedate you again.” Fury entered the room with his hands raised, one hand supporting a soft cast. His face and tone was placating. He inclined his head slightly to the side in a small submissive gesture, making Phil’s eyes grow side. In their five years of working side-by-side, he’s never seen Nick Fury submit to anyone.

Pulling back, a low rumble echoed his growl but he was otherwise inoffensive. “What happened?” Fear instantly hit his nose. He shifted the omega on his side, using his bruised up body to shield the smaller form. He wished that he wore his suit today instead of the field uniform. He could have used his jacket to cover his omega. No, stop. The kid wasn’t his omega; there was the lack of a bite on the kid’s shoulder to prove it.

“You know how this goes. We start with what you recall then work our way through the details.”  Fury took the seat nearest the door. Phil recognized the blank face used whenever they tried to appease a target. His seen that look more than his fair share of times and it unnerved him to be on the receiving end of it. “What do you remember?”

***

_Dark lights._

_A party._

_A house._

_Omegas._

_Heat. Fake Heat._

_Sickly sweet and synthetic._

_Cum and slick._

_Drugs._

_Synthlactin._

_A boy, bound and gagged. And—kaleidoscope eyes._

***

Something snapped inside Phil like an switch. He tore his eyes away from Fury, glancing down at the omega cuddle on his side. The boy, as if sensing his thoughts, opens his eyes for the first time and the same kaleidoscope were staring back at him. They pin him like a punch to the got, knocking out all his wind and stealing all his air. It felt hard to breath. A wave of _want_ escaped him and the smell of omega slick answered his call not a second later.

“Jesus, Cheese, keep it in your pants.” Fury groaned, frowning. “The kid’s not even legal yet and you’re seconds from mounting him inside your freaking hospital room. You’re going to end up regretting it and hating yourself for doing it.”

Phil’s first reaction was to growl but it shimmered down after Fury spoke. The omega beside him simpered and clung to his arm, hiding his face in the folds of his ruined uniform. His omega felt threatened and his alpha was coming out to protect.

“Cut the protective alpha B.S. Your scent is all over the kid. No one’s going to dare touch him with a ten-foot pole with the pheromones you’re overproducing. You _both_ stink.” Fury grimaced, giving him an _are you kidding me (?)_ look. “So you went all Alpha—with a capital A—and ripped those mother fuckers into pieces. We _did_ take out the den but you also got suspension for…” He made a feeble attempt gesturing to Phil, “…over doing it. You hear me, Cheese?”

“Suspension?” Phil paled, distress flooding through his veins. He had never, ever been suspended. He had a straight record in school, an exemplary record in his service, and a legendary record for SHIELD. He had never ever been in a situation where his merits were placed into question. It felt like ice was clawing up his skin through his main arteries.

Fury sensed it immediately. “I’ve talked to the Director and putting in an appeal. If she rules in your favor then it’ll be recorded as medical leave for your…” He does the abortive gesture to Phil again, “…uncanny situation. The board will be more understanding.”

“And the omega?” Phil finally voiced out the question that’s been nagging him for the better part of the hour. “What’s he got to do with anything?”

Fury contorts his face and took a full five minutes to realize that Phil wasn’t joking. “Shit, really?” His face twisted. “The kid’s a Milker.” He said with a pained expression, not wanting to be the bearer of the bad news.

A Milker was what they called an omega used for milk—basically _cattle_ , second-gendered human cattle who were often abducted, recruited, or runaways who fell through the cracks in the system. They were forced to lactate without pregnancy with prolactin drugs and synthetic heat hormones. Prolactin drugs were developed for nursing omegas who had difficulty producing milk but they were prescription medication.

The omega beside him appeared no more than twelve or thirteen. Milkers were often fetishized too, forced into highly sexual situations; hence, synth-a-heat drugs. And that last thought, made rage boil inside him, threatening to burst. He was vaguely aware that his sight was growing dim when a voice cut through his thoughts.

“Easy, Cheese, don’t go feral again.” Said Fury. “That’s what happened last time. You went bizarre-o when you saw him and lost it. Afterwards, you wouldn’t let anyone touch him, not even the beta ME. They had to _sedate_ you before they could check on him.”

Feral, the word sounded alarm bells in Phil’s head. If he was feral then why was— “Why is he here?” _It wasn’t not safe._ It was not safe to put a feral Alpha in the presence of an unbonded Omega. Hormones and pheromones and basic instinct would drive alpha mad in a frenzied need to mate, bite, and claim. That’s why feral alphas sedated and placed into a panic room until they were lucid.

“Figured you’d ask,” Fury shrugged. “One, you _are_ in the panic room. Two, they _didn’t_ put you here together. On the contrary, I wasn’t even looking for you.” He pointed to Phil with a glint in his eye before moving his finger to the omega, “I was looking for him. The whole base is in lockdown trying to find the omega who _escape_ medical.”

“Wait, what?”

“No use denying it, Phil. He imprinted on you. And from the looks of it, you aren’t unaffected. You also bit my head off when I entered here because I was another alpha and I’m your friend. What do you think will happen if they force the kid away, huh? You might go feral again and that’s not good for your record.”

Imprinting, in their second-gendered world, was a biological imperative with no warning, no symptoms, no anything. It just happened. While it was more commonly found in Alpha-Omega couples, there have been recorded cases of non-traditional imprinting between differently-gendered pairs. Imprinting affected the three genders differently.

For an omega, imprinting would change the omega’s scent from available to unavailable until such a time the couple went through their courtship, and subsequent bond. For a beta, it triggered a change in their brain chemicals which increased their scent hormone or pheromone production to entire their mate into bonding. For an alpha, it heightened their mating instinct to try to woo their potential mate into completing the bond.

There were many benefits to imprinting. One of the greatest benefits was improved fertility in both partners. Some research brought to light evidence of extrasensory connection between mated imprinted pairs. Still other scholars were looking into the effect of imprinting on children and the advance development in academic capabilities.

Little was known about imprints being broken or unconsummated.

Phil barely had a voice to whisper. “What am I going to do? He’s a kid.”

“He’s an omega.” _Your omega_ went unsaid. “That’s the first stage of the bond right there.” With that, Fury left, leaving Phil with an unknown omega inside the panic room of HQ. The simple task of meeting with another alpha seemed to exhaust the kid, who was now quietly snoring beside him.

Phil had no other choice. He rearranged his position on the bed until he was laid down on his back, the omega’s arm thrown over his chest and leg thrown over his hip.

***

When he woke up, Phil realized that it was the best sleep he had in years.

***

The following day, Phil was sent home—with the omega. He berated himself the entire ride home for choosing not to take a mate. As the fifth of seven children, there was no scarcity in alphas in his bloodline. He was the third Alpha to present in the family and they positive that they youngest brother would present as an Alpha as well.

He believed that, as an Alpha, it was his duty to help the betterment of his community and his country, instead of fighting off each other for the latest omega ball. He wanted to focus his strength and abilities into righting the wrongness which caused the dystopia in the first place. That’s why he ended up in SHIELD.

Sometimes, he regretted that decision. Being bound and mated would have lessened the allure of the lactating omega not two feet away from him, buckled into the passenger’s seat of his Corola ’89. Despite the small build, he never used to be claustrophobic inside his own car. The omega smelled _divine_ and the milk only added an extra-layer of creaminess to the scent like a panna cotta desert. He was dressed in Phil’s spare black shirt—only in the shirt and nothing else and it kept falling off one shoulder.

It was a torturous ride back home.

Phil sprayed neutralizers before daring to open the door. The omega smelled too good for strange alphas _not_ to take notice, even imprinted, which was the reason they took precautions and dressed the omega in his clothes instead of unscented hospital scrubs. He was to take care of the omega until they can find his parents and returned safely. Until then, Phil had a legal claim as the alpha-imprinted even if the boy was half his age.

“Alpha?” the omega’s soft voice caught Phil off-guard. It was the first time the boy spoke since Phil woke up yesterday with short-term memory loss due to his ‘going Alpha’. Even for a child, it should not have brought about such a reaction from Phil because he was _aroused_ , no doubt about it. And his traitorous mind was already running fantasies in his head about what that voice would sound like panting his names in broken whispers.

“I am an agent of SHIELD. Two nights ago, we raided the compound where you were being held hostage. I was the alpha who found you. And I went…” He coughed and steadied his breath, “I believe it’s a Hero-complex which led to you imprinting on me. Hence, I have been tasked to watch you until we can bring you back to your family. Rest assured, I will not touch you in anyway which is inappropriate of our—your situation. “

When the omega doesn’t respond, he tried another tactic. He unbuckled his seat belt and turned to the omega with soft eyes. “My name is Phillip J. Coulson. You can call me Phil. What’s your name?”

“Clint,” the omega seemed to shy away from him.

Phil let happiness bleed into his scent because at least now he had a name instead of just ‘omega’ in his mind. The doctors and nurses in medical tried to get Clint to talk but all the omega did was move away from there advances and huddle closer to Phil. The spark of his inner alpha had risen out of him and he kept growling like a feral at the medical people. It was embarrassing.

“Hello Clint,” He said softly, inner alpha was elated that Clint chose to speak to him now. “Are you hungry? There’s left over pizza in the fridge. Perhaps we can heat it up for lunch?”

“Peet-zah?” Clint intoned, eyes widened, scent shimmering with excitement. It appeased Phil’s alpha tremendously to get such a positive reaction for the omega.

“Yes, Clint. Pizza. Peperoni if I remember correctly.”

By now, the neutralizers have started to kick in and Phil was no longer oversaturated with fresh ripe lactating omega. Clint’s scent was subdued into something bearable. Phil’s hindbrain took a back seat. Without the overpowering scent, he rationalized that Clint needed real clothes because his shirt only reached to cover a few inches of the boy’s thigh. He can see the damp, darkened fabric just above Clint’s nipples too.

“Come on,” he decided after pulling a winter coat from the back seat. It’ll cover the boy to his knees and that’ll be enough for Phil. With a small smile, he handed it to Clint. “Put that on so you don’t get a cold. My apartment’s on the third floor and this building doesn’t have an elevator. Do you think you can walk up?” They brought Clint to his car via a wheelchair in the hospital.

Clint put on a determined face and nodded. They made it half-way up to the first flight of stairs before he collapsed to his knees on the rickety steps. With eyes wide in fear, he turned to Phil, begging. “I’m sorry, alpha, I’m sorry. Don’t… please don’t hurt me… I didn’t mean… I… I…” He screwed his eyes shut for a blow that never came.

Phil’s heart wrenched at the sight. “I’m not here to hurt you, Clint.” He said with a gentle hand on the omega’s shoulder. But he let his guard down and let anger mix into his scent. Clint cowered next to the wall.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Alpha, I’m sorry.” He was practically delirious. His scent began to stick up the stairwell.

“Clint, Clint,” It took Phil three good tries before the omega even lifted his head. Tears streaked the pale baby-face, and green-blue-gold eyes were glassed over. When Clint flinched, Phil silently vowed to personally hunt down the men who did this to his omega. “Clint, calm down. You’re safe. I’m here. Nothing is going to hurt. I will not let them get to you. I’ll protect you. You’re safe. I’m here.”

He scooped the sobbing omega into his arms and carried him all the way to his apartment. They have not touched since the night in the panic room. Up-close, the omega’s scent was triple of what he endured during the car ride. It sung to him like a siren song, pulling the baser urges from the recess of his mind, begging him to claim—

Once inside, Phil tucked the boy into the couch and brought the comforter from his bedroom. He covered with his scent-rich sheet. With the heating freshly turned-on, it will take a while before the apartment warms and the omega was shivering. He needed a distraction. He needed to put some distance between them because his traitorous mind was already telling him that Clint was _his_.

“I’m going to run a warm bath, okay? I want you to warm up while I heat-up the pizza.” Clint’s whine should be illegal because Phil rushed to the bathroom and shoved a hand down his pants before the door properly closed. Well _, fuck_.

***

Clint wasn’t cooperating. Phil had woken him up after falling asleep on the couch and brought him to the bathroom where he clawed— _clawed—_ at Phil’s arms when he saw to the tub filled with water. The tears were back. He kicked and screamed, and Phil was afraid that his neighbor was going to call the cops. He needed to get the omega cleaned, clothed, and fed. Then, maybe, he can convince Clint to pump the excess milk out of his breast because it looked painful.

“Clint, it’s just a bath. It will warm you up.”

“No!” Clint hissed. “Please, Alpha, I’ll be good—a good omega—here—” Naked and sweaty, he gingerly offered his swollen chest to Phil, hardened nipple rubbing at the center of Phil’s palm. “See? Good omega. I’ll give you milk.”

As painful as it was to admit, it took all of Phil’s control not to let his eyes turn red. “Clint,” he pulled his hand away while shaking his head. “No, thank you. You don’t have to give me your milk. You don’t have to give me anything. You don’t _owe_ me.” While that was technically a lie, there was no way that he would leave an unmated omega who was imprinted on _him_. “I just want you to take warm up before I get you pizza, okay?”

“No milk?” Clint did not look convinced.

Phil frowned at the trained reaction. “No. You can pump while in the tub if your breasts hurt.” He realized that it was the wrong thing to say because the smell of Clint’s distraught suddenly filled the room, staring at him with renewed horror. “Clint—”

“Good omegas don’t waste milk.” Clint told him firmly. “I’m a good omega. Been good. I’ll never be bad again, alpha.”

“It’s Phil.” Phil corrected, “Please call me Phil. I’m not your alpha, Clint.”

“But…” Clint lowered his eyes to the floor, sniffling. “You smell like me, alpha—” he righted himself with a grimace, “—Phil. Alpha Phil. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Phil shushed in a hurry. “It’s okay. It’s new. I’m not mad. Just remember to call me Phil, okay? Not alpha. I’m not your mate, Clint. You’re too young to mate.” _And I’m too old for you_.  Clint gave a shaky nod, keening when Phil smelled pleased. “Can I trust you not to drown in the bath while I heat the pizza? I’ve left a change of clothes by the sink.”

“Yes, Al—Phil.”

Phil smiled and ran his fingers through Clint’s hair without thinking. “Good boy.” His chest fluttered when he heard Clint’s happy little hum as he exited the bathroom. Once outside, he breathed in the smell of omega that lingered in the hall. Their scents mixed in the small space and it smelled like _home_. He pushed that thought away, distracting himself by heating up the promised pizza.

While he did not cook often, it was still a useful skill to have. Four and a half slices of pizza did not look enough to feed the starving omega inside the bathroom. So, he decided to make grilled cheese sandwiches with the remaining half-loaf of bread. He was half-way through the sandwiches when the door of the bathroom clicks open. Clint strode out a few moments later dressed only in loose, threadbare, barely-cling-to-his-hips sleep pants.

Phil drank in the sight like a parched man.

“Hi,” Clint greeted with an abortive half-wave, eyeing the food greedily but saying nothing. He stood in the middle of the living room looking like a lost lamb.

“Hey,” Phil found enough of his voice to answer back. “You can take a seat by the counter. I can pull out the pizza from the oven.” He also set down two tall glasses with the plates before pulling out the pizza. He ducked back to the fridge to get apple juice. When he returned, he was confronted by the sight Clint’s suckable tits at level with the counter top, almost like a museum piece on display.

“Milk?” Clint offered, taking a glass.

Phil adamantly shook his head. “No, Clint. I told you that you don’t need to pay me with your milk.” Clint frowned and placed the glass back with a sullen expression. “Here,” Phil counter-offered with a plate of warm pizza and grilled cheese. “You need to eat before you take the antilactin. It’ll stop the milk and your breasts from hurting.” He did not mean to stare but said breasts and nipples were glaring at him.

“Do you want my milk to stop, Phil?”

He was taken aback by the question. Then he shook his head quickly. “That isn’t my choice to make, Clint. It’s yours. Do _you_ want _your_ milk to stop? Your breasts look like they hurt.” He said, sitting across the counter with the last batch of sandwiches. “It’s your body, Clint, and you should have the right to make decisions about it. Understand me?”

Clint’s face said that it was a clear no.

Sighing, Phil pushed the plate again. “Eat. I made the sandwiches especially for you.” It was like a switched flicked in Clint’s brain and he began devouring the food with gusto. Large open-mouth bites with his lush pink lips around the bread and fat pink tongue darting out to chase the last bits of cheese. It did not help that he _moaned_ obscenely around the food like it was the best meal in the world. The alpha squirmed on his seat, stealing glances at the boy.

Clint’s hair looked like a messy blond nest. His skin was fresh and clean and pink from the bath with a faint flow on his cheeks from the heat. Phil’s eyes dipped down and followed the line of Clint’s neck, to the kid’s bulging breasts and dark pink nipples, which were pebbled and _leaking_. The omega’s scent, free from antiseptics, was sweet and fragrant, three-times better that last night.

“You’re staring.” Clint pointed out, causing Phil to choke on his own food.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was thinking. If you wore the shirt I gave you then I wouldn’t be staring.” The older man replied. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

Clint lowered his third pizza back on the plate. “You can drink.” He said plainly, cupping his breast again. “I don’t mind. I know you want to. I can smell it on you. It’s okay. You’re my mate. I can smell me on you.”

Phil stubbornly shook his head again. “Clint, I told you in the bathroom, that’s not why I brought you home. I’m not your mate. I smell like you because we slept in the same bed last night. And. you’ve imprinted on me. Do you know what imprinting is?” He fought hard to hide his frown when Clint gave the negative.

“Imprinting temporarily changes your scent. It marks you with my scent and warns other alpha’s to stay away. I think it’s because you think I saved you or something like that. A hero-complex maybe. But as long as you’re imprinted, you are under my protection and I promise to keep you safe until we get you back to your family. Do you understand?”

The omega kept silent, plate of food pushed away.

“Clint?”

“I like your scent.” It was said quietly. “Smells like _mate_.”

“Clint,” Phil rubbed his temples then the bridge of his nose to alleviate the burgeoning headache. “That’s the imprint talking, not you. I swear to keep you safe. Just listen to me, okay? You have to eat. Then I can give you the medicine to help with the lactation, okay? But first, you need to keep your strength up since you’re overproducing.” He made a mental note to prepare the syringes given by medical, and resolutely does _not_ watch a bead of milk slide down Clint’s torso.

Phil gripped his thigh tight. It was going to be a longer night.


	2. Chapter 2

[ Clint Barton – 8 : Phil Coulson – 21 ]

Clint was born and raised in a small town in Clark County, Iowa—the smallest town to be exact. It had a population of less than two hundred when he was born, and just over two hundred by the time he would walk. It was the type of type where everybody knew everybody, and everyone was in everyone else’s business. When the Barton Family’s youngest son presented earlier than expected, the news spread like wildfire. And, to make matters worse, Clint presented as an omega.

While Omegas, in general, were not treated differently by the members of their tiny farm-led community, those of this specific second-gender designation were in short-supply all over America. In the past, there was a time when the government had placed bio-technology into breeding more Alphas in order to cope up with the high-demand for soldiers, but when the time of peace came, the population imbalance was nearly irreversible. Alphas and betas dominated the populace and very few omegas were being born.

As such, all omegas were obligated to register with the state and sent into special Omega facilities to be kept and protected by the State of Iowa. Unluckily for Clint, Iowa State’s local government services was one of the crappiest in the country. The cartels struck when the news of Omega transfers filtered through the radio chatter. It was an in-and-out job, easy since they had a man on the inside. There was no blood and no gore, just a bus-full of scared omegas.

Clint was only eight years old, the youngest of the lot. They had no idea what to do with him. Growing up in the country, his body was used to hard work and days on the field. No one expected him to be an Omega; everyone expected him to be a Beta like his brother and mother or an Alpha like his father. His body showed light muscle definition from the manual labor but it was too small to breed. It would not do the cartel any good if he were to die during pregnancy because he was physically unable to carry pups to a full-term.

The cartel did the next best thing; they pumped him up with hormones and forced him to lactate. It did not take long for Clint’s tiny flat chest to swell with omega milk, no large than a palm.

One of the men, Clint’s nose too young to detect whether Alpha or beta, pinched his small untouched nipple until he cried out in pain. When that did not work, they placed one of the suction-things that he used to see on cows and placed it on his tiny breast. The fear of God struck him when the hard-looking metal machine whizzed into life and the suction began. He sobbed for he was bound and gagged, powerless against the assault on his body.

“That’s it. Make milk like the Omega slut you are.” A voice jeered when a small trickle of white milk started to leak. The suctions were roughly pulled off. Clint whimpered in sensitivity. He was high on drugs and out of his mind, he vaguely recalled being hauled into another room, redressed, and prepped for the evening’s activities.

***

Time blurred.

Time passed.

Time lost.

Clint doesn’t recall _how long_ he was inside his own personal hell.

Omegas often lactate due to young but he had been especially early in development. The only thing for certain was what they wanted—what the alphas wanted—from him; his milk. Clint mewled and whimpered as his sore sensitive flesh was abused by one mouth after the other. Faceless alphas hid behind the darkness of his blindfold, painfully sucking on his dry tits. It was a foreign sensation to feel something tricking out of his barely matured nipples.

Day blurred into nights. Nights passed in a haze.

He felt lost but he endured.

There was only one reason why he presented so young.

For that, he vowed to survive.

***

And he did.

***

_Blue._

_Dark._

_Alpha._

_Heat._

_The noise blaring in his ears._

_The sickening smell of slick._

_The Alpha’s growl, low and feral._

_More noise._

_More screams._

_Gunshots._

_—Then, silence._

_Blue again._

_And warmth._

_And comfort._

_The soft touch of skin._

_The gentleness in the caress._

_Something big and warm covering him._

_Musk and spice._

_Gunpowder and sweat._

_Pheromones and Hormones._

_The bluest blue eyes that he can ever remember._

_Mate._

***

[ Clint Barton – 12 : Phil Coulson – 25 ]

When Clint woke up, he was in a plain white room surrounding by blinking, buzzing, beeping machines which were large and ominous-looking. It smelled of _nothing_ like absolutely nothing. To a child so used to the smells and stench of the underworld it was like stepping into a sensory deprivation tank.

He can’t smell anything! But he can see and feel and hear. The room was blank and plain and _white_. He saw tools on a silver mobile table-tray—needles, syringes, and tubes. He can feel the very same needles _under his skin_ —the skin of his hand—where the IV was inserted and the tube that connected to the IV bag. He saw the redness of his own blood back-flowing out of his arm.

Noises—people—were outside, talking.

“ _Where is he?_ ” A voice, loud and booming, an Alpha shouted just outside his room.

“ _Ferals are sent to the panic room, alpha, sir._ ”

“ _He isn’t an feral! He just—he just lost his cool, okay? He isn’t feral. Cheese, isn’t like that.”_

“ _But, alpha, sir… the target was…”_ the second voice quivered.

“— _mutilated_.” A third voice spoke, an alpha. “ _Say it, beta, those men were mutilated by the feral.”_

“ _Johnson, this isn’t right…_ ”

“ _What isn’t right, Fury, is that your goddamn partner murdered those sons of bitches in cold blood before we could get the information we needed! He went feral! For a—for an omega that he can’t even knot yet!”_

Blue eyes entered his consciousness. That was him! That was the Alpha who saved him! It must be! He needed to find his Alpha! Panicked, his eyes darted around the room looking for an escape. A small ventilation hatch was just above his bed. If he could remove the thigymajigs on his arms then he could go find his alpha. He shimmied his way to the air duct.

The air inside the cramped space wasn’t filtered. He closed his eyes, welcoming the scents that assaulted him. It was better that the scent-barren white room. He could smell his alpha, the rich musky spice from his memories, and it was fresh. His alpha was still in the building! And so, Clint followed his nose, closing everything off. He didn’t hear the panicked voices, the angry voices, or the shrilly alarms.

All he wanted to do was find his Alpha.

***

Clint hasn’t seen many alphas in his life but he’s sure that his alpha was handsome. He had mousy brown hair, a wide forehead, clipped nose, and the softest looking pair of chapped lips. He stared at the unconscious man with blatant desire. His mouth watered. The alpha smelled like _home_ like his mama’s home-cooked blueberry pie and his daddy’s burgers, like going home after bathing in the river with the fire lit in the living room. He crawled onto the bed intent on getting buried in that scent forever.

 “Omega,” the alpha mumbled in his sleep and Clint snuggled closer to the warm body. An arm snaked around his waist, keeping him even closer. Even asleep, his Alpha recognized him just like his mama used to say. The drugs had long since worn off but he was tired. For the first time, in a very long time, he fell asleep. He was here. He made it. He was safe.

He woke up to his alpha rutting against his lower back. He pushed against his Alpha’s cock, relishing in the feeling of the hardness and dampness collecting. He can feel his channel getting wet. It hasn’t done that before. It was a strange feeling up it felt _good_. It felt right. Mindlessly, he humped the leg trapped between his and pressing his small omega cock against the firm thigh.

“Alpha,” he keened, licking his lips, delighted at the way his Alpha’s eyes followed his tongue. He pressed closer, feeling the heat of his Alpha’s sleep-addled body through the flimsy hospital gown. But then, another alpha barged into the room. He stiffened on instinct. His Alpha tightened the hold around him, shielding his body from the unknown alpha.

“ _Milker_.” He heard the familiar voice say. It was the same alpha yelling outside his hospital room. That’s what he was. The realization hit him like a ton of ice cold water—they were referring to him. His Alpha’s angry scent hit him hard, making him whimper. His Alpha was angry at him. His Alpha wouldn’t want him. His Alpha wouldn’t want a used Omega like him. The voices of the two alphas went back and forth over his head with the arm around his middle centering him.

Soon, the alpha called Fury left and his Alpha laid back down, rearranging until they were spooned again. He eagerly wrapped his arms and legs around his Alpha’s frame, holding on for dear life, believing that it was the only chance he would ever get.

***

It wasn’t.

***

Clint shrieked at the sight of the needle, scaring Phil hard to death. He scrambled off the table, tipping the chair sideward and falling to the floor. His nails scratched the wooden floor as he reverse-crawled back, jerking when his back hit the couch. He was shaking furiously.

“No,” he cried, eyes watering, “No, no, no, please no.”

He backtracked through his brain at a million miles per hour. What had he done? His Alpha had been so good and so _kind_. What did he do wrong? Was this punishment? Did he eat too much food? Did he forget his manners? Did he not obey an instruction perfectly? What was his mistake? Because now, Phil was mad at him and was going to… going to…

The syringed fell to the floor with an audible thud. Footsteps vibrated through the floor boards, thundering across the room in a booming echo. Clint closed his eyes and huddled tighter onto himself. It hurt. The movement squeezed his tender breasts and jostled his recovering muscles. It was the best position to keep his internal organs safe if the alpha decided to kick him.

“Oh, Clint,” was all he heard before arms wrapped around him. He froze, waiting for the impact the never came. Instead, Phil was cooing warmly into his ear, whispering words of reassurance. “Clint, Clint, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry, jesus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…” the alpha’s arms tightened around him and Clint steeled himself even more.

Then, the arms loosened. “Was it the needles?” a soft question pressed against into his hair. Like this, Clint can _smell_ Phil’s scent. It was surrounding him, covering him, engulfing him in a heady bubble of _alphamatealpha_ , and it made him start to relax. His omega was reacting to the alpha, answering the scent-influenced calmness over him.

He nodded.

“Okay,” Phil whispered back just as softly. “No more needles. I’m sorry, Clint. No more. I’ll throw them away. You never have to see them again. No more. No more needles. I promise.”

“Promise?” Clint spoke in a small voice, daring to lift his head. Phil’s face was inches from his own with a look of complete heartbreak that made him want to keen in apology. But, he bit his lip and waited for the older man to answer him. His voice came out shaky when he asked again, “Promise?”

“I promise, Clint,” came the reassurance. “Now, come on, sweetheart, let go. Let go for me.” It wasn’t until those words that Clint realized he’d been holding his arms so tight that his knuckles turned white and his arms ached from where he clawed himself. “That’s good… easy, now…” continued Phil’s praises until Clint’s arms dropped loosely to his side.

“Clint?” a large hand touched the bottom of his jaw, lifting his face up. “Are you okay?”

Oh no.

Clint’s eyes widened in fear.

He had disobeyed an order.

He had—

“I’m sorry, Alpha!” he yelled, arms flinging out to wrap around Phil’s neck. He buried his face in the meat of the alpha’s shoulder, muttering his nonsensical apologies. He had disobeyed an Alpha. _His_ Alpha. He didn’t want to be abandoned. He didn’t want to be sent back. He wanted to stay. He wanted to be good. He wanted his alpha. “Please, please, don’t send me away.”

Big hands pressed against his back, moving an up-and-down motion.

“Clint,” his Alpha’s voice was still tender. “I’m not your alpha.”

Clint’s heart froze.

His Alpha didn’t want him.

A whimper escaped his lips before he registered it.

Then, the hand is back again, rubbing circles on his back.

“Alpha… Phil…” He sobbed, holding his alpha tighter. “Please, I’ll be a good omega, please.” He held on because he didn’t want to be sent back. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted Phil to keep him, to claim him, to mate him. He wanted this gorgeous alpha who seemed to want nothing to do with him.

He was given a nice room on the second floor of the nice house in the nice neighborhood. It was the largest bedroom he ever owned to himself. Those in the compound were nothing more than cages and the ones back home, before he was abducted, was foggy in his memory. Soft blues and creams and greens decorated the walls with dark brown furniture. The bed was the softest, comfiest, biggest bed he ever slept on and he felt drowned by the flurry comforters.

He selfishly thought that it wasn’t enough; the walls were too bright, the space to wide, and the bed too large. It was lonely being given such a space. He was used to steel cages so small that no matter how he turned, the coldness of the metal will seep through his thin cloths. Now, he could toss and turn and lie side-ways without his feet ever reaching the edge of the bed.

Yet still, it wasn’t Phil’s room. Phil’s room was entirely across the hallway, detached from this one. He hasn’t even gotten a peek inside because the door stayed firmly closed. But he could smell the alpha’s lingering scent in the hall, and in his room. He wanted—god, he wanted—the alpha to come here and claim him. His Alpha—Phil—who held him to gently while he cried and carried him here. Why was his alpha rejecting him now?

His Alpha diligently stayed away.

***

Normally, Clint would not have any trouble finding sleep even it if it was a new place. He normally was so tired by this time that his body would have fallen asleep in exhaustion by now. Today however, he had done nothing physically draining. Phil didn’t even drink any of his milk and his breasts were tender from the fullness.

Clint shifted again until he was lying on his stomach but the position squished his breasts and made them even more uncomfortable. He whimpered at the tenderness. His breasts hurt. His nipples were throbbing, rubbing against the softness of his sheets because he refused to wear a shirt. They were leaking, soaking up the fabric with damp spots that made his face burn.

He usually wasn’t self-conscious about his milk. The alphas who took him and his patrons all loved him milk. They always said that it was one of his redeeming qualities since he wasn’t old enough to breed. They blindfolded his eyes but they didn’t cover his ears. He heard them whenever they fed. He believed that it would be the thing that drew his Alpha too him but his Alpha looked disgusted at his leaking nubs.

Clint whimpered again, burning his face in the pillow with shame. He was broken and he was used. His Alpha didn’t want him, or his milk. Tears—hot salty bitter tears streamed down his face and fell onto his pillow. He was alone, used, and broken. His Alpha didn’t want him. He should have been left with his captors. Being here unwanted was worse than his previous hell.

“Clint?” the voice surprised hm. A ray of light across his floor came from the corridor. He hadn’t heard the knock or the door opening. Phil was peeking from the ajar frame. His face was shadowed but Clint’s omega nose can smell the worry in Phil’s scent. The omega tried to feign sleep.

“I know you’re awake, Clint. Is something wrong?”

Clint huddled closer to the mattress, unconsciously curling into a ball. He wanted his Alpha here but he didn’t want his Alpha here—he wanted his Alpha to be here and claim him and mate him but not _here and yet so far away_. It was like dangling a carrot in front of his face that he would never be able to reach. It was completely unfair.

“Clint?” Phil tried again but Clint stubbornly shuts himself away. They maintain the thick stalemate between them for a few minutes until the alpha finally gives up with a heavy sigh. “Okay. I’ll be…” he stutters, “I’ll just be across the hall. You should… you should knock if you need anything, okay?”

Clint doesn’t move until he hears the door lock.

 _You_ , he thought bitterly in his head, _I need you_.

***

After that night, things begun to settle into normalcy.

Clint spent most of his time locked up in his room. It was pretty boring but not as bad as his time in the cages. At least now, he had books even if he couldn’t read the picture helped him make sense of the stories. There was paper and pens. Some days, he tried to practice what little he could remember from when he was still in school. He copied off the pages of the books even if he didn’t understand them.

He heard the alpha padding up and down the corridor. Sometimes the footsteps would stop right in front of his door but the alpha never knocked or called out to him. Phil would stay outside for a few minutes then walk away again. The only time Phil ever came to talk to him was to call him for meals. And it was only during meals that Clint and Phil saw each other—just like now.

Clint sat down across from Phil at the dining table. For four days, the alpha had kept him clean, fed, and hydrated. The loose sweatpants around his hips were less loose now. He vehemently refused to wear a shirt since his nipples were too tender. His mammary was still producing milk even after foregoing his normal drugs.

“Your heats gone.” It was the first words since Clint’s first night here. “How are you feeling?”

Clint picked at his food. The dish was homemade judging from the mess he eyed in the kitchen. It was fragrant and spicy and hot. He had a large bowl of orangish-red goo with lumps of meat and vegetables like a very thick soup. It reminded him of his old life before he presented as an omega, back when things were simpler and he didn’t have this _need_ for something to fill his gaping void.

“Clint?”

Spoon clattering, he was caught dead by the oceans of blue staring intently at him.

“I’m uh…” he tried vainly to remember what was asked, “…yeah.” He ended up saying, “Yeah, I’m fine.” Even if it was the farthest thing from his mind.  He shoveled a spoonful of chili, rich flavor flooding into his mouth. It was the best meal he’s had aside from pizza. It tasted like _home_.

Phil chocked on something and coughed. “I was thinking that we should go out today.” Clint’s ears perked up. “Since you’re a growing boy. I think that you should have some clothes of your own to wear. I can’t… you can’t keep walking around the house in my old pajamas.” He pointed to the drawstring failing miserably to hold the sleep pants on Clint’s narrow hips.

“No…” Clint stuttered. “It’s fine. You don’t have to, alpha.”

“It’s Phil.” Phil corrected, voice terse. “My name is Phil, and it would do you well to refer to me as such. I’m not your alpha, Clint. Your too young for me.”

The words hurt worse than all the needles Clint’s injured over the years. He lowered his head, trying to concentrate on the food that has become bland on his taste buds. “Yes, Phil.” He said quietly, forcing himself to stomach the thick good down his throat even if he wanted to be sick. “Anything you want, Phil.” And just like that, their moment was broken.

The once rich flavor of chili became stale on his tongue. It was spicy like fires were licking into his mouth. Clint glanced around the table looking for something, anything that would help numb his tongue from the hot spices. There was only bread and rice and water but none of it worked.

“Are you…?”

“I’m _fine_.” Clint bit out harshly. He grabbed his glass and downed it. Then, he placed the large mouth underneath his breast and began squeezing his nipple. It stung but not as rough as he had before. He was days out of practice and intended stimulation on his nub was shocking. He whimpered quietly, praying in silence as he forced milk out of his breast. It may have taken hours until a bead of white began to leak out and with steady pumping his glass began to full.

Once it was over, he had no hesitation in bringing his milk to his mouth and drinking it. His milk was sweet and thick and creamy. It soothed the fire on his tongue immediately, leaving only a buzz of warmth and fuzz on his lips. He drank half the glass before putting it down again. His left nipple, which he milked, was still leaving down his stomach and at the moment he didn’t care.

He can feel the pin-prick of eyes staring intently at him.

“What?” he almost barked without looking up. The alpha sputtered but otherwise said nothing. Clint ducked his head lower and continued to eat. Pumping lightened his mood immeasurably. There was always a little bit of pain and a lot of pleasure from lessening the contents of his tits. It was almost Europhobic. He can feel his tiny cock standing at attention and his whole leaking in his backside.

_CLANG._

_BOOM._

_CRASH._

Clint jerked up when he heard the noise. Phil was nowhere in sight. The table was clear save for his bowl of chili and his plate of bread. He was suddenly alone. The noise had come from the kitchen.

“Finish your food, Clint,” came his Alpha’s command in an alpha voice. “Finish your food and we’ll go shopping after.”

He followed the voice and spotted the alpha pacing in the kitchen and the smell of his Alpha’s arousal fluttered through the air. It made him leak even more—his breasts and his cock and his backside. It frustrated him even more.

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry in advance because there was accidentally a plot inserted when this was supposed to be PWP. Instead of writing it all as a long 10k-ish one-shot, I divided it into chapters. Or it might never get published at all. 
> 
> The porn actually comes in the next chapter. I noticed that I didn't actually have any 'unfinished' C/C fics on Ao3, except for [DEAR MR. COULSON](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2833169). So, yeah, I had leeway to post this. It's like 2am in the freaking morning here. I just needed to post this, ya know? Or else I'll dump it and you guys will never get to read it. 
> 
> All things holy guys, give me some ideas here.  
> (And C/C comics I can read, seriously.)
> 
> If you have a prompt or an idea, you can [INSPIRE ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit) on tumblr. Or [TALK TO ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/ask), I don't bite (hard, unless you want me to)


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